


set the tone (it’s just me and you alone)

by heaveninbusan



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers actually, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, no but they’re really stupid I’m sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaveninbusan/pseuds/heaveninbusan
Summary: Jisung gasps as he’s hauled into Minho’s lap, adjusting so his knees sit comfortably on either side of Minho’s thighs. He can feel himself shaking, unsure of what to do with his hands, again. He finally rests them between their bodies, fiddling with one of the buttons on Minho’s shirt. “Is this awkward?” he asks.“Yes,” Minho says, running one of his hands along Jisung’s thigh. “But that’s okay. We’ve never done anything like this before.”“Now what?”“Now I need you to relax. It’s just me.”It’s just him, as if that could ever make Jisung relax. Just Minho, who is the most beautiful man Jisung has ever laid eyes on; just Minho, who could take home any guy he wanted with just the snap of his fingers; just Minho, who he could lose if this all goes wrong. But Minho’s hands run up and over the expanse of Jisung’s legs, massaging gently, and his cologne permeates the air between them, and he does feel better. Marginally. But he’s so nervous he almost wishes he did, in fact, have a drink that night.—OR jisung makes a fool of himself, accidentally confesses to loving the wrong person, and asks minho, his best friend, to take his virginity.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 34
Kudos: 180
Collections: SKZ Fuckfest





	set the tone (it’s just me and you alone)

Jisung sits outside of the library, leg bouncing, nervously refreshing the SNU_confess Twitter feed. He discovered the anonymous advice account during his first year at Seoul National University, when his roommate Felix needed advice on how to deal with what he thought was doping on the football team. The part-confessional, part-advice column account operated on anonymous CuriousCat submissions, and when they helped break the biggest scandal their university had seen in a decade, the account went viral among students. Everyone feared that they’d be taken down by the administration, but here, a year later, they were going strong enough that Jisung, at the end of his rope, had submitted his first question. 

He checks his clock—Minho isn’t due for another few minutes, so he’s got time—and refreshes again. And yes—there it is! His question’s been answered. He quickly taps the link to get to the full response. His eyes go right past the question—he spent way, way too much time trying to get it right so he knows it better than some of his very own lyrics at this point, and goes straight to the answer, trying to cram all their advice in before Minho gets there. 

The advice is rational, kind, gentle, and it fills him with a bit of hope. He sighs with relief, leaning against the back of the cold metal bench. He can’t say he isn’t still nervous about confessing his feelings, but whoever SNU_confess is has already made him feel better about the whole thing. Minho is Jisung’s best friend first. And if he’s as understanding, accepting, and smart as Jisung thinks he is—and he is!—then even if he doesn’t feel the same way about Jisung, that doesn’t mean their friendship will be at risk.

He knows it’s silly, putting all this faith into a faceless university student behind the screen, but he’s always felt comfort reading through their answers, watching his peers post success stories after taking anon’s advice. And even more than that, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, now that he’s told someone, even a stranger, his secret. He’s been carrying it around for far too long. 

The tell-tale grumble of Minho’s engine roars from the other side of the parking lot. Drivers have to swipe a card before they can enter, so Jisung has another minute to reread through the CuriousCat post and bolster himself. Maybe tonight can be the night. They’d planned a movie night with just the two of them after all. He clicks open his phone, the page already waiting for him, but what he sees sends a shock of adrenaline right through his heart.

He’d forgotten to hit the Anonymous button.

And worse than that, he sent the Ask under J.One, his rapper account, the account with over fifty thousand followers. Anyone who sees this ask will know exactly who he is and who he’s asking about.

With trembling hands, he shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t have any more time to dwell on this, not when Minho’s Mazda is pulling up alongside the curb where he stands. With any luck, Minho would have been on the road and wouldn’t have had the time to see Jisung’s internet fumblings. But this is okay, it’s fine, really. It just means that tonight will have to be the night.

He can do this.

“What’s the matter with you?” Minho asks as Jisung slides into the passenger seat. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Or walked in on your parents—“

“Do not finish that sentence, hyung, oh my god,” Jisung laughs, and it’s only half-forced. In the back seat, Hyunjin makes a fake retching sound in his throat. “Why is he back there?”

“Why not?” Minho waits for Jisung to buckle in before tearing away from the curb, reckless, like always, but still playing safe.

“Because you got him first?”

“Because that’s Jisungie’s seat,” Hyunjin says in a hilarious mockery of Minho’s voice. Minho whips his fist to the back seat, wailing aimlessly until he makes contact with Hyunjin’s leg. And hard, if Hyunjin’s whine is anything to go by.

Jisung laughs along with their antics as Minho whips the car through campus and then towards his and Hyunjin’s apartment building. It may seem silly, but he can’t keep the smile from his face, thinking about Minho sending Hyunjin to the back seat—for him. It’s almost enough to quiet his nerves. Almost.

The ride to the apartment is short, though it would be a bit longer if Minho didn’t drive like a criminal. But instead of pulling into the parking garage, Minho rolls to a stop at the front door of the building.

“Get out,” he calls back to Hyunjin, putting the car in park.

“But I thought we were having a movie night?” Jisung asks, confused by the weird order of events happening around him.

“Well, we need snacks, of course.” Minho shoots him a Hollywood-perfect smile, adding a wink for good measure. Jisung’s face heats in a blush and he thanks the entire universe that it’s nighttime.

“You guys are gross,” Hyunjin says, breaking the spell. He climbs out of the back seat, slamming the door behind him, and sticking out his tongue in Jisung’s direction. Despite Minho’s teasing, he still waits for Hyunjin to safely get inside before pulling away.

Minho drives them to the nearest convenience store, turning up the music to fill the silence between them. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, especially when Minho reaches out and gives Jisung’s knee a squeeze. It’s nothing new, he’s done it a thousand times before, and he doesn’t look over at Jisung, doesn’t acknowledge it at all, but it stirs an unexpected giddiness in Jisung’s chest.

The brightly lit 7-11 is packed with students Jisung recognizes from campus or from some of his classes. Minho keeps a hand at the small of Jisung’s back, gently guiding him through the throng to the coolers at the back of the store.

“What are we watching tonight?” Jisung asks as his eyes rake over the wall of potential flavor choices. 

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because, I need to pick the right flavor to go with the movie.” He looks over to Minho to find a poorly hidden smile and something between fondness and exasperation in his eyes.

“I didn’t know ice cream flavor was dependent on movie genre.”

“It’s all about the mood,” Jisung says very seriously, despite Minho’s giggles. “You don’t want something overly sweet if you’re watching a horror or a thriller. Likewise, nothing rich and complex if you’re watching a kid’s movie. Do you see?”

“I think I do,” Minho answers, all mock solemnity. “How about this: get both. My treat.”

“Yah!” Jisung slaps Minho’s shoulder. “You have to let me pay at least once.”

“Maybe,” Minho laughs, shoving Jisung right back. “But not this time.”

In a flash, Minho grabs two pints of ice cream—strawberry and dark chocolate—and shoves them into Jisung’s waiting hands. Soon thereafter it’s chips and candies, and Minho even throws a couple bags of ramyeon on top of the growing pile.

“We need to find some real food, too,” Minho adds, studying the growing collection. Jisung isn’t sure the two of them could reasonably eat this much junk in a week, much less a couple of hours, but he doesn’t say so.

“Where are we going to find ‘real food’ in this place? Has there ever been a single vegetable inside this building?”

“You’re here.”

“Fucking rude!” Jisung kicks at Minho’s shin, but Minho just scurries off and out of reach. 

Jisung follows him to the ‘fresh foods’ section, a few measly shelves stacked with very sad-looking salads and boiled eggs that probably expired before Jisung even enrolled in university. 

“You’re not going to eat any of that,” Jisung quips, shifting his weight. “Can we go? This is a lot already.”

“Yeah, you’re right, let’s go.” Minho gives the shelves one last thoughtful glance. “But for your information, my body is a temple.”

“Whatever you say, hyung.”

Jisung so does not want to think about Minho’s body right now. Not when he can actually get a good look at Minho under the bright fluorescent lighting in the store as opposed to the darkness of the car. Minho looks incredible in tight black jeans and a leather jacket, white t-shirt tucked into his belted waist. Jisung promptly looks away, pretending to be interested in the magazine display at the counter. 

“Will that be all tonight?” the cashier asks with a laugh.

“Ah, yes, that’s everything.” Minho pulls out his wallet as Jisung gingerly places down the armful of groceries he’d been carrying around and it’s abruptly obvious why he was designated as the cart tonight.

“Let me pay!”

Minho swipes his card through the reader. “Aw, what a shame, it’s already done. Should’ve offered sooner, Sungie. Next time.”

When they get back to Minho and Hyunjin’s apartment, the place is quiet, a stream of bluish light leaking from beneath Hyunjin’s bedroom door. Jisung doubts he’s sleeping already, and surely enough, he hears a hushed giggle a moment later, telling him he’s right. He unpacks their 7-11 haul, stashing the pints of ice cream in the freezer, Minho’s kitchen as familiar to him as the one in his parents’ home. 

“So what do you want to watch?” Minho asks as he pulls out a pot to boil some water. Jisung can’t help but watch his every move, lifting himself up onto one of the kitchen bar stools while he waits. Minho is a dancer, and even here, moving around the stove and the sink, his body lines are all grace and control.

“I picked last time, it’s your turn.”

“Okay, but last time I picked, you were scared out of your mind, had to spend the night, and made me keep the lights on.”

“I think that was all part of your plan to get me in bed,” Jisung jokes. 

“I don’t need an elaborate scheme to get you into bed with me, Jisungie,” Minho says, quirking an eyebrow. “I know that all I’d have to do is ask.”

Jisung’s ears burn and he can’t hold eye contact any longer, not when Minho is looking at him like that--like he can see all of Jisung’s thoughts. Jisung pulls out his phone and the first thing he sees, of course, is the still-open CuriousCat post; the tips of his fingers tingle and he bounces his leg, suddenly nervous all over again. He wonders if the right time will magically present itself to him tonight, or if he’s going to have to carve a moment all on his own. Without really thinking about it, he fidgets with the frayed tear in his jeans, rereading the post yet again.

Minho catches the movement and frowns, hand still stirring the noodles on the stove. “Go change,” he says. “I’ll meet you in there.”

“Your room?” Jisung just barely keeps himself from sputtering.

Minho shrugs. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Okay.”

Jisung slides off his stool, still a little unsure. It’s not as if they don’t watch movies in Minho’s bed sometimes. It’s just not often. The couch is comfortable enough and the tv is better than Minho’s laptop screen. But he doesn’t argue. Instead he wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs and grabs two bottles of water from the fridge before making his way down the hall to Minho’s bedroom.

The first time Jisung had seen Minho’s bedroom--back in high school when they still all lived at home with their families--he’d been taken aback. The Minho he knew then was all hard lines and steely gazes and black clothes. But at home, he was all softness, with more than half his space set aside for his cats’ toys and beds and scratching posts. The cats didn’t move with him to university, but the same light and airy color palette followed him to this apartment, mint green sheets and sheer, gossamer curtains. 

He sets the waters on the nightstand beside a framed picture of Dori, his footsteps quiet on the plush carpet. A pair of sweats sit on top of Minho’s dresser, the same pair of grey joggers Jisung always borrows when he spends the night here. Jisung quickly changes into them and takes off his yellow flannel, too, leaving him with just a sleeveless black shirt as he climbs into the bed. He’s seen the way Minho checks out his arms now that he dedicates some time to visiting the gym—even if Minho thinks he’s being subtle—and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take any opportunity to make his friend blush.

His tactic pays off almost instantly when Minho stops short just inside the bedroom door, hands holding two steaming cups of ramyeon. Minho smiles, but it’s a cocky grin; he’s somehow always able to turn it back to Jisung.

“Here,” he says, reaching to hand Jisung one of the cups and kicking the door shut.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just go in the living room?” Jisung asks. Now that he’s faced with the prospect of sitting this close, in bed, with Minho, knowing what he wants to say to him later, it all feels just a little overwhelming. 

“Just don’t make a mess of my sheets,” Minho says. They both pause, realizing the double meaning and Minho sputters out a laugh. “Shut up.”

Jisung looks away, opening Minho’s laptop and typing in the password with one hand. He tries to focus on his noodles, on scrolling through Minho’s Netflix queue, on literally anything other than the fact that Minho is changing his clothes just a few feet away. Jisung clears his throat, settling on a horror movie freshly added to the to-watch list, keeping his eyes glued to the screen until he feels the mattress dip under Minho’s weight.

“Really, this?” Minho asks. “Remember last time…”

“I’m trying to be nice and pick something you’ll like so just let me.”

“Okay, okay.” Minho reaches over to turn the lamp off, drowning the room in darkness. 

Somewhere in the back of Jisung’s mind, he’s aware that his entire body is pressed against Minho, legs and hips and Minho’s arm around his shoulder, the laptop perched precariously on their knees. But none of that matters right now because something else entirely is making Jisung’s heart beat so violently he’s sure the downstairs neighbors can hear him. He hides his eyes behind his hand, peeking through the cracks between his fingers as the main character on screen takes slow, quiet steps through the abandoned hospital. The only sounds are her shaky breaths and her shoes shuffling through the debris on the floor—the music slowed down a few seconds ago and Jisung knows he’s in for the biggest jump scare of his life. 

His muscles tense. He can’t watch, but he can’t look away, either. 

And then something grabs him by the thigh and he lets out an embarrassing shriek, flinging both the computer and Minho off of him in one very graceful movement. 

A second later, Jisung recovers, when Minho’s laughter shakes the bed. He’s hanging half off the mattress, trying to say something, but he can’t catch his breath, his body folding in on itself as he loses it over Jisung’s outburst. 

“Hyung, what the hell,” Jisung whines. But even though he’s shaking, he’s out of breath, and he’s more than a little embarrassed, he grabs Minho by the hand and pulls him back up. He’s ready to apologize for nearly launching Minho to the floor when he makes out, between gasps of laughter, something that sounds an awful lot like big baby. “Yah!”

Jisung wallops Minho in the face with one of the pillows piled at the headboard and Minho comes up for air with a wide smile and his hair all askew. It would be adorable, but adorable turns terrifying really fast as Minho launches himself at Jisung. Strong thighs cage him in and before he knows it, Jisung is pinned down, Minho’s fingers digging into his sides. 

Jisung gasps for air, swatting at Minho, but it’s like Minho has a thousand hands and no matter what he does, Jisung just can’t win. On top of him, Minho falls forward, overcome with laughter like he’s the one being tickled, and Jisung sees it as the opportunity it is, catching Minho off guard and rolling them over. Minho lets out a yelp as they teeter precariously close to the edge of the bed.

They roll again and again, wrestling like puppies across Minho’s bed, each one taking the upper hand in turn, until Minho wraps his entire body around Jisung to make him stop. Minho’s legs wrap around Jisung’s waist, holding him in place. His chest rises and falls with labored breaths and even in the darkness, the only light coming from the streetlights outside the window, Jisung can see Minho’s cheeks are dusted with pink. 

“No more, no more, I can’t take it,” Minho breathes, his voice hoarse. 

“Who’s the baby now?” Jisung teases, but all the bite is gone from his tone. This close, hovering above Minho, he can see how starry Minho’s eyes are, marvels at the upturned corners of his lips. 

Something snaps into place between them, and Jisung is breathless for a whole new reason now. The laughter is gone from Minho’s expression, replaced with something more serious. He swallows audibly, craning his face upward. 

Jisung could kiss him. Right now. It wouldn’t take any effort at all to close the gap between them. He licks his lips, watching Minho’s eyes follow the movement. Minho’s mouth drops open, his eyes darting between Jisung’s gaze and Jisung’s lips and the idea that Minho might really want this too has Jisung’s heart stuttering to a stop.

He scrambles out of Minho’s grip, his body acting without his permission. Why is he suddenly so nervous? Of course he knows why, but for some reason, holding onto these feelings for Minho and keeping them to himself felt way, way safer than ever sharing them. All his planning never led him to a moment where Minho might want the same thing too. It’s too much for his brain to process and he does the only thing he can think to do: he panics.

“Jisung?”

Minho’s voice startles Jisung to his feet. “Don’t—hold on. Okay? Just… hold on, don’t move.” He’s aware he’s rambling but he can’t seem to put a stop to his traitorous mouth. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says one more time, opening the bedroom door and slipping into the hallway.

“Jisung this is my bedroom, where am I going to go?”

Jisung shuts himself in the bathroom, resting his shaking hands on the cool porcelain sink. His mind races from one thought to the next, from the Twitter post that Minho is surely going to see eventually, to the way Minho’s expression turned serious, to how close their faces were less than a minute ago. God, he’s an idiot. The Right Moment presented itself so clearly, so perfectly, he couldn’t have planned it better himself. But he ran, and now Minho probably thinks he’s an asshole.

He stares at himself in the mirror. His pupils are blown wide and black, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his hair is a staticky mess from rolling around on the bed. Letting out a long, deep breath, he runs the tap to splash cold water on his face, waking himself up.

He can do this.

But if he goes in there and picks up exactly where they left off… well, that changes things. And probably permanently. What if they really do feel the same way, but it ends in a messy breakup down the line? Then he loses his best friend for good. And Minho’s last relationship was rocky, tumultuous; what if he isn’t ready?

Worse, what if Jisung read this situation entirely wrong, misinterpreted Minho’s facial expressions? What if Minho really does see him as the young, inexperienced kid brother?

Fuck.

The Twitter post. The confessional. He reminds himself again that even if Minho doesn’t like him back, in that way, that it’s still better to hear from Jisung himself instead of something stupid posted online. Minho’s his best friend after all, he at least owes him that. With that harsh reminder to himself, he turns off the water, drawing in one last shaky breath, and forces himself to go back to Minho’s room.

The bedside light is back on, and the pillows and blankets have all been returned to their rightful place, along with the laptop, closed and tucked into its spot on the desk. Minho sits with his legs crossed under him, brows furrowed as he stares at his phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks before Jisung takes more than two steps into the room.

“Huh?”

Minho flashes the phone screen in Jisung’s direction, and Jisung’s heart plummets upon seeing the SNU_confess feed shining back up at him.

“I’m sorry, hyung, I really wanted to. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I—I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Jisung takes a few tentative steps forward, and when Minho doesn’t stop him, he sits down at the foot of the bed.

“I mean, I get it, I think? But why would you be afraid to tell me you like Changbin? You can always tell me anything.”

Jisung is pretty sure he literally hears a record scratch inside his brain. Changbin? He’s not sure where Minho ever got that idea but before he can even open his mouth, Minho continues.

“It has to be him, right? Judging by everything you wrote in here. ‘Watching him work, known each other forever, older, experienced.’” 

Jisung’s throat is dry, killing any words he wants to speak before they can even come out. How could Minho have gotten this so wrong? Of course, he never mentioned Minho’s name in his ask—he thought he was going for anonymity after all. But he couldn’t be more obvious.

The worst thing, though, the thing that feels like a steel fist to his gut, is that Minho seems completely unbothered by this revelation. Like what happened between them just moments ago was a figment of Jisung’s imagination. Minho’s eyes aren’t cold or closed off; instead he seems mildly interested, like this is something he hadn’t foreseen but now makes sense. Jisung wants to shake him, to tell him he’s got it all wrong, but he stops himself. If Minho doesn’t care, why should Jisung further embarrass himself by exposing the true nature of his feelings.

“Right, Changbin…” is all he can manage to say.

“Well, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Minho says, locking his phone and tossing it on the nightstand. “Do you want to finish the movie? I think we’re getting to the good part.”

“Sure, hyung.”

Jisung falls into his place beside Minho, painfully aware of the few extra centimeters between their bodies. He can hardly pay attention to what’s happening on the screen, and spends the rest of the night alternating between grieving what was lost before it ever began, and being relieved he didn’t make a fool of himself.

Jisung shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line behind Minho. The cafe just off campus is bustling this early in the morning, and he’s not really sure how everyone else can seem so awake when mentally, his head is still on his pillow. His phone buzzes in his hand and he automatically tenses up, wondering what it could be this time. He does have filtering on his twitter notifications—small perks for having a verified account—but a lot is still slipping through ever since he sent that CuriousCat. Even after he messaged them asking to take his submission down, he still hears something about it every few hours.

Thankfully, none of his other friends gave him any grief about it over the weekend. The next morning Hyunjin tried to have a non-verbal conversation over Minho’s head while the three of them scooted around each other in the kitchen, but Jisung shut it down quickly. It was a relief, though, that at least one person seemed to understand who Jisung had been writing about. It made him feel a little less crazy.

He even saw Changbin that weekend, to do an Instagram live together, but Changbin hadn’t said a word about it. Jisung briefly entertained the idea of telling him what happened that night, about Minho’s wild and unfortunate misunderstanding, but he was already embarrassed enough and he wasn’t ready to open himself up to anymore bullying than he already gets.

Jisung’s head aches and the smell of something burning behind the counter turns his stomach. He wishes this was a hangover—at least the pain and nausea would be worth it. But no, this is just another manifestation of bad sleeping habits. Maybe one day he’ll learn.

“Do you want anything?” Minho asks, pulling Jisung out of his head. Jisung shakes his head no, he can’t even think about food right now. “Two iced americanos,” Minho says to the barista. 

“I said no,” Jisung complains.

“You didn’t say anything, actually,” Minho answers, swiping his card to pay. “But look at you. Are you okay?”

“Um wow, thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Minho says, hip-checking him as they walk over to the drink line. “You’re always cute. But you look tired. Is it about Changbin?”

Jisung groans. “I’m going to find us seats.”

The only empty table is near the front door and Jisung has to wait for the busser to clear it off before he can sit. While he’s waiting, Minho comes up behind him with their coffees, pushing one into Jisung’s hands, and then rubbing his back gently. Before, this small, casual touch would unleash butterflies in his stomach. But now that Minho seems to be perfectly okay with Jisung supposedly having feelings for someone else, it’s like Jisung has to take all these little interactions and recategorize them in his brain.

He used to think there was significance to Minho’s casual affections, to his preferential treatment, to his habit of always taking care of Jisung, sometimes to his own detriment. Maybe he really does only see Jisung as a little brother.

The thought weighs Jisung down as he slides into his seat across from Minho. 

“So, what is it?”

“Hm?”

“What’s stopping you from talking to him?”

This feels like a test that Jisung hasn’t studied for, or for a class Jisung hasn’t even taken. To anyone else, Minho would look like his normal self, sipping his coffee through a straw and pretending to focus on his phone. But Jisung can see the tightness around Minho’s eyes. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Well, you read the post, right,” is all he can offer up. 

“You lack confidence, you’re inexperienced.” Minho glances up at him.

Jisung finds it strange that this is what Minho focuses on, but he’s not entirely wrong. Jisung is painfully virginal, only having fooled around once or twice in high school, and even then, it wasn’t much at all. He blushes; he can feel it from his ears all the way down his neck, especially when Minho smirks at him.

“You know that kind of stuff doesn’t matter, right, Jisungie,” Minho says with an unexpected softness. 

Jisung can’t quite make eye contact with Minho right now, turning his gaze instead to the window, watching the crowd of professors and students mill by on their way to morning classes. “I know,” he says. “But he’s—he’s a lot more experienced than I am. And a lot more confident. I don’t know, it makes me feel like a little kid sometimes. I don’t feel like I can match up to his expectations.”

Maybe if he never says Changbin’s name, it isn’t a lie. Not really.

“Were you super-confident the first time you got onstage as J.one?” 

“Well, no—”

“The only way to get good at something, and confident about your ability, is to practice, right? Go get experience and then you’ll be more sure of yourself.”

“It’s not that easy, hyung. I’m not like you or Changbin or even Hyunjin, I—with this particular thing, you only get experience if you’re first confident.”

“It’s a cycle,” Minho chuckles, taking another sip of his drink and Jisung can’t tear his eyes away from Minho’s lips wrapping around his straw.

“You could teach me.”

Jisung wants to reach out and snatch the words out of the air, shove them back into his mouth, but it’s too late. He doesn’t even know where they came from. He certainly hadn’t been thinking about that before his mouth blurted out nonsense all on its own. 

Minho’s eyes bulge and he nearly chokes on his drink. “What?” he laughs, easily recovering. He throws his head back, slapping the laminate surface of the table.

Jisung can’t say anything. He takes an over large gulp of his coffee through the plastic lid, hiding his face behind his cup. He’s hot all over, and he wishes the floor would open beneath him and swallow him into the earth. Anything but this. 

“Oh no, you’re serious.” Minho’s tone changes a little, to something Jisung can’t quite read. But his face is still lit with an incredulous smile as he shakes his head. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Oh god just forget I said anything,” Jisung whines. He puts down his drink and buries his face in his folded arms.

Minho’s phone blares to life a few centimeters from Jisung’s head, and Jisung has never been more grateful for divine intervention. 

“That’s Jeongin, he’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long,” Minho says, silencing the call. “Do you want a ride?” Minho snickers at his choice of words.

“No, thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, Ji.” Minho stands and ruffles Jisung’s hair. “Don’t worry too much, it wasn’t that embarrassing.”

“I hate you.”

“Not as much as I hate you,” Minho sings and a moment later he’s gone, leaving Jisung alone in the cafe to stew in his own stupidity.

Jisung’s brain swims with mathematical equations and when he closes his eyes all he sees are rows and rows of black and white sheet music. But he doesn’t think he’s actually taken in anything that he was meant to learn that day in any of his three classes; instead, his mind was like a movie stuck in a loop, just him and Minho and the idiotic request he blurted out over breakfast.

“Felix, please be home,” he calls out as he unlocks the door to his dorm room. He finds Felix sitting at his desk, YouTube on his laptop screen, and heaves a sigh of relief as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Thank god. I fucked up Felix, big time.”

“Oh, hi Jisung,” Felix says. “Seungmin’s great, thanks for asking. And how are his parents? Still hate me, but it’s fine. The train ride sucked but hey, at least I got here in one piece.”

Jisung collapses onto his bed, clothes and bag and all, breath whooshing out of him all at once. “I’m sorry, but I really, really fucked up this time.”

Felix laughs, kicking the frame of Jisung’s bed. “It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“Did Minho say anything to you at dance practice this morning?” Jisung rolls over onto his stomach to face Felix, watching him spin back and forth in his desk chair.

“No, I don’t think so. Other than berating me for missing practice over the weekend, no.”

“And you haven’t been on twitter?”

“No, you know Seungmin’s family’s cabin gets no reception.”

“Thank god.”

Felix laughs again. “This is the second time in less than a minute that you’ve thanked him. Tell me what the hell is going on already.”

“So you remember last year when we discovered that confessions twitter account…”

Jisung launches into the story of his weekend, unloading everything he’d been holding in while Felix was off visiting his boyfriend’s family. How he forgot to hit the Anon button, how Minho saw the post, the fumbled confession and everything after. When he gets to breakfast, and how he basically propositioned his best friend, Felix looks torn between horror and the obvious laughter he’s biting back.

“Why are you the biggest clown I know?”

“I hate you.”

“You know, I think Changbin might like Hyunjin. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Shut up!” Jisung throws his pillow directly at Felix’s face, but it just makes Felix laugh even harder. “This isn’t a joke, what am I going to do?”

“Well you could drop out and change your name and move to New Zealand.”

“That’s not a bad plan, actually.”

“Jisung-ah,” Felix groans, drawing out the second syllable. He picks the pillow up off of the floor and tosses it back onto the bed before climbing in beside Jisung. “It’s really not that bad. It seems bad now, but it’ll be over soon.”

Jisung relaxes into Felix’s arms, letting himself be spooned. “It’s just that—I really thought Minho felt the same way. I don’t know, maybe I’m dumb, but he flirts with me all the time. He takes care of me. It’s really easy to make him blush.” 

“You’re not dumb, Jisungie,” Felix coos at him. “I can’t speak for Minho obviously, but you’re not dumb. It’s not dumb to love someone… at least look at it this way: you’re still best friends. You still have that, and you always said that that was what mattered most when it came to him, right?”

Felix is right, of course, because that really is all that matters. But it still feels like a loss anyway, and it doesn’t stop the ache in his throat or the burn in his eyes. He swallows down hard; he will not cry. For now, though, he’s tired of thinking about it—and it really is all he’s been thinking about. He needs a break from his own mind.

“Tell me about your trip,” he says quietly.

“Are you sure?” When Jisung only gives a small nod, Felix continues, sliding his fingers through Jisung’s hair as he talks. “Well, I played myself, really. I don’t know why I thought anything would change after four years of the same, but his parents still hate me.”

“I don’t know how anyone can hate you, you’re a walking ball of sunshine, like quite literally.”

“His grandmother called me an abomination but I like ‘walking ball of sunshine’ a little bit better.”

“I’m sorry, Lixie,” says Jisung. He rolls over until they’re face to face and squeezes his friend around the waist. “They should see how happy you make Seungmin and that should be enough for them.”

“It should be. I don’t know why I keep trying with them when I know they’re never going to accept me.”

“For Seungmin.”

Felix sighs. “Yeah, for Seungmin.”

“So other than being an abomination, did anything else happen while you were gone?”

“Well Seungmin and I did get the guest house to ourselves…”

Jisung pushes away from Felix at that comment, heaving a fake gag. “Okay, I did not ask.”

“Excuse me! You told me all about how you propositioned my dance partner! I think that’s way worse.”

“Well you’re wrong, but that happens, do better next time.”

Felix erupts into giggles, whacking Jisung over the head with the same pillow lobbed at him earlier. “You know, either you really do want to hear about my romantic night with Seungmin, or your phone’s going off.”

Jisung pauses, and sure enough he feels it vibrate. He rolls onto his back, slipping his phone out and finds a text message lighting up the screen. 

“It’s Minho.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, I’m not reading it. Here, you do it.” He shoves the phone into Felix’s hands.

“You’re such a baby.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Jisung whines, hiding his face behind his hands. Felix just scoffs at him and Jisung can hear him tapping the passcode onto the screen. 

“Do you want to know what it says?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He can’t keep the panic out of his tone.

“Oh my god, Sungie, just take the damn phone.”

Jisung lets out a very flattering noise of complaint, somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and takes his phone back, glancing at the screen like it’s radioactive. There at the bottom of the chat, under a long string of memes Minho sent during Jisung’s Instagram broadcast is a single message: i tried to say this earlier but you know it’s sometimes hard for me to get my feelings across

Before Jisung can open his mouth to ask Felix what he should say, another message comes through.

Minho-hyung (don’t answer): whoever gets to be with you whether its changbinnie or someone else you haven’t even met yet  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): if they’re the right person they won’t care about what you’ve done or what you haven’t done they’ll love you and appreciate you for who you are  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): and if they don’t then they’re not the right person  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): your read receipts are on you brat text me back or im taking back all this food i just bought for you and Felix 

Jisung throws his phone onto the floor. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

“Where are you going?”

“To throw myself off the roof.”

Jisung’s eyelids feel like sandpaper as he blinks against the strain of his computer screen. He tries one more time to focus, turning up the volume on his headphones and playing the sequence again. It’s only about twenty seconds long, but he just can’t get it right. It needs something more, but when he adds more, it’s too much. When he strips it back, it’s too little. It’s getting frustrating. 

A gentle pat on the shoulder pulls him out of his head and out of the music. Pulling off the headphones, he turns to see Changbin leaning over his shoulder, a cup of noodles in one hand as he squints at Jisung’s work.

“Eat,” is all Changbin offers, and it’s all Jisung needs to give himself permission to take a break.

“Thanks, hyung,” says Jisung. He takes the food offered to him and rolls away from the desk where he can’t see the screen anymore and thus it can’t taunt him.

“Mind if I take a look?”

The particular track Jisung is working on isn’t for 3racha. Or at least, it isn’t yet. It’s something more personal, something that’s only half-finished, really. But Jisung knows Changbin is a musical genius, and more than that, Changbin is safe and he feels comfortable letting him listen.

“By all means.” He slides out of the way, rolling along the hardwood floor until Changbin can pull up his own chair and fit the headphones on. 

Jisung takes a bite of his food and his stomach growls. Checking the time, he sees that they’ve been working for six hours now; Jisung hadn’t even realized he was hungry. He can sometimes get like this, hyper focused on the one thing he’s working on, digging his teeth into its neck and not letting go until he’s wrangled it into submission. Sometimes it can be schoolwork, but most of the time its music.

After a few minutes, Changbin glances over his shoulder at Jisung, pinning him with a knowing look. Jisung’s not sure what to do; it’s pretty obvious what the song is about, who it’s for. But Changbin, bless him, doesn’t say anything. He turns away with the click of the mouse, and goes back to his work.

Jisung pulls out his phone for a distraction, otherwise he’ll just sit and stare at whatever Changbin is up to and that will just defeat the purpose of Changbin taking over at all. He scrolls through his Instagram feed, double tapping on a picture of Seungmin and Felix from their trip to visit Seungmin’s family. The scenery behind them is lush, green, and with their arms wrapped around one another and Felix’s enormous smile, it really is a great photo.

Jisung used to be a little bit jealous of them; he feels guilt now when he’s reminded of it, but it’s true. Not that he was ever interested in Felix or Seungmin, but he definitely was envious of what they had. When he met Felix, one of their first nights rooming together, he’d asked about how he and Seungmin met and how they got together. Turns out, they were best friends for a few years, having lived in the same apartment building when Felix moved to Seoul from Sydney, and after suffering all through high school, Felix decided to shoot his shot the summer after graduation. 

The story had given him a little bit of hope about his chances with Minho, but sometimes Jisung thinks the only thing worse than having no hope is holding onto it just to have it dashed in the end anyway.

That’s what his song is about, the one that Changbin is currently working on. He wants to laugh at the irony of that but he’s almost afraid he’ll lapse into something just this side of hysteria and he’s not ready to scare his friends just yet.

“Channie-hyung!” Through the slightly ajar door to the studio—the term is used loosely, here, as it’s really just the third bedroom in Chan’s and Changbin’s apartment, haphazardly soundproofed by drunken hand one night a year ago and filled to the brim with all the musical equipment they could fit—Jisung can hear Hyunjin letting himself into the apartment and dramatically calling out for its owners. But both Chan and Changbin have headphones on, volume presumably all the way up, and they can’t hear anything outside of their own heads.

Jisung groans. He’s not getting up, not for Hyunjin, anyway, and he kicks at Chan’s chair, startling him out of his concentration.

“Hyunjin’s here,” Jisung says in a normal tone before yelling out, “Studio!” He catches Chan sending an unreadable glance in Changbin’s direction and Jisung ignores it instead of trying to read into it. He’s got his own problems.

Hyunjin comes barreling through a moment later with a tray of coffees in his hands and okay, maybe Hyunjin is an angel and he can stay.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” Jisung practically cries as Hyunjin hands him a drink. “Is Minho here too?” He wants to take back the question before it’s even halfway out but he can’t stop himself from asking.

“Um, no, he just dropped me off,” Hyunjin answers, looking away from Jisung’s eyes. “I‘ve… been sexiled. For the first time in a long time. Are you gonna clarify about—”

“No, no I’m really not.”

“Hey, leave him alone,” Chan interrupts. “Come here.” He pulls Hyunjin by the hips into his lap and Jisung looks away.

The same question came up when Jisung arrived at the apartment that morning. Of course, by now everyone has seen the CC, even if it had been deleted. And it seems like everyone in the world—or at least everyone Jisung knew—understood that it had been about Minho, except Minho himself. And when Jisung turned up without any good news, Chan and Changbin had opted to leave it alone. And they’re leading Hyunjin toward a similar approach, apparently. Jisung wonders if Minho has said anything to Hyunjin about it, but he isn’t going to ask.

Jisung gulps, his iced coffee suddenly sludge in his throat. He looks over at Hyunjin sitting in Chan’s lap, thinking about how he had been ‘sexiled’ from his apartment. Not for the first time either, apparently. Hyunjin grasps the headphones over his ears, eyelids fluttering shut as he listens to whatever Chan has playing for him, and Jisung doesn’t miss the subtle movements of Chan’s hands on Hyunjin’s waist. 

Neither, apparently, does Changbin. He clears his throat unnecessarily loudly before turning back to Jisung. “This is a duet,” he says, edging a glance over his shoulder at Hyunjin and Chan, probably thinking he’s being subtle. He’s not. “You need someone else to finish the conversation, otherwise you’re just talking to yourself. Do you want help?”

Jisung looks between the three of them, discomfort settling on his shoulders. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go,” he says, maybe a bit too abruptly, pulling himself out of his chair. “I appreciate it though. I’ll look at it tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to go just because I’m here,” Hyunjin says delicately. “I can go in the living room if you want me to.”

“No, Hyunjinnie, that’s okay. I can’t work anymore or my brain might actually disintegrate. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Do you want a ride?” Changbin offers. 

Jisung looks down at all three of them and their pitying stares. He knows he shouldn’t think of it as pity. They’re his friends for fuck’s sake and they care about him. But he can’t stay here right now, can’t sit and watch them flirt and be weird while he wraps his mind around Minho hooking up with someone at this very moment.

“No thanks, I’ll take the subway. See you.”

Jisung allows himself exactly one afternoon of moping before he scrapes himself off the pavement and acts like a normal human being again. It does help that he’s handed two massive projects for a couple of his classes the very next day, too. He doesn’t have time to whine and complain, and besides, he doesn’t want to make Minho feel bad, even if his instinct is to run and hide from every text message and phone call.

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

Minho’s voice is the last thing he expects to hear over the music in his headphones as he sits in bed, staring at the Econ notes in his lap. This is supposed to be a partner job, and Jisung’s ‘partner’ decided that could simply mean dividing the work in half and never speaking again.

“I’m not avoiding you!” And he isn’t, not really. 

“Jisung it’s been like six months.”

“It’s been literally five days since I’ve seen you and,” he picks up his phone and inspects it, “an hour since I texted you.”

“See? You’re avoiding me.” Jisung laughs at that as Minho sinks onto the bed beside him. All the air around him is filled with the ambergris scent of Minho’s cologne and while he finds it comforting, it also makes him freeze. He can’t help but feel the weirdness between them, and for the very first time he feels totally unsure about how to act. “What are you working on?”

“Those Econ problems. Sunwoo decided we’d just split it in half and I think I’d rather go to jail for murder than finish this, to be honest.”

Minho pulls Jisung’s textbook out of his lap, replacing it with himself, resting his head in the dip where Jisung’s legs are crossed. His hair fans out around him, soft and slightly curled, black roots growing in behind the warm brown highlight. He looks soft and cozy and Jisung just wants to run his fingers through Minho’s hair, and he almost does, stopping just short of actually doing it.

“Hang out with me,” Minho whines. His lower lip juts out in a pout.

“I have a lot of work to do.”

“Me too. Bring it to the studio like you used to do.”

Jisung smiles to himself, remembering. When he came to university, his only friends on campus were Minho and Hyunjin, who he’d known all through high school, and of course, Felix, his new roommate. And all three of them were in the same dance program, though Minho is two years their senior. Jisung spent a lot of late nights and free time and even some early mornings with his work—school work or writing—sitting on the benches in the dance practice rooms. Some of his best lyrics were written there, secretly watching Minho in the mirrors. 

“Okay, fine.” Minho lets out a tiny squeal, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist. “You’re such a baby. I’ll come but you have to feed me after.”

Minho’s affection lasts about as long as it takes Jisung to finish his sentence, and he pulls himself away from Jisung, giving him a shove. “You use me for free food and rides everywhere,” he laughs.

“Why else would I keep you around when you’re so annoying?”

“I thought I was your best friend but all this time you just viewed me as a sugar daddy. I’m wounded.”

“Please don’t ever call yourself a daddy around me again, I will puke.”

“Didn’t seem so disgusted by the idea the other day when you asked me to teach you how to be a good little boy.”

“That’s not—” Jisung’s cheeks and neck and ears burn and he feels a little faint. “That is not what I asked—yah, you little shit, I am not coming with you now.”

“Yes you are.” And before Jisung knows what’s happening, Minho stands and lifts him bodily off the mattress, throwing him over his shoulder. Jisung’s not exactly confident Minho won’t collapse at any moment and he lets out a yelp when it seems like they’re losing their balance. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, my books.”

Minho leans down to fish the textbook and notebook off the bed, Jisung teetering in his hold. But he recovers, snatching Jisung’s keys off the dresser before carrying him into the hall. Blood rushes to Jisung’s face.

“I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Then why do I have to drive you everywhere? You know, relationships should be fifty-fifty but right now you get all of my money and I get none of the sugar.”

“You’re the one who said no!”

Minho’s laughter echoes through the stairwell.

Jisung is pretty sure he could watch Minho dancing, and only Minho dancing, for the rest of his life and never get bored. He’s not doing anything particularly mind-blowing, just a dance cover of some girl group who had their comeback recently, but for Jisung it’s enough to abandon his homework and focus solely on Minho’s movements. 

Unfortunately for Jisung, he won’t be finding out, at least not tonight, because after one last repetition of the choreography, Minho cuts the music. He’s sweating, glistening in the overhead light, his shirt clinging to his chest and his bangs dripping in his eyes. 

“Food?”

Jisung nods, knowing better than to try to engage in any more conversation than this. Minho… disappears when he dances, either gone from his mind entirely, or too deep into his own head to just be yanked out. He takes his time resurfacing, and Jisung knows, after years of watching, to just let Minho come back to himself in his own time. While he waits for Minho to shower and change, he pulls up the song he was working on at Chan and Changbin’s apartment, giving it a listen with fresh ears. 

Changbin, of course, was right. The song is a conversation, and sometimes it would be perfectly fine for Jisung or anyone else to pull that off on their own. But the uncertainty in the voice on one side sounds inauthentic when he’s talking to himself. He needs someone else to come in and round it out. He could bring in Changbin for the verses and layer Chan into the chorus. He pulls out his notebook, flipping past his Econ notes to scribble down this idea before he inevitably forgets it.

“What’s that?”

Jisung startles, looking up and scrambling to pause the music. He’s not sure how long Minho has been standing over him but the last thing he needs is for Minho to listen to these lyrics, raw and unfinished and totally unrefined. 

“Just something new. I’m not sure if it’ll work out yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.” He smiles, face flushed from the hot water of his shower, still-damp hair pushed away from his face. His eyes are clear again, and even though he’s clearly fatigued from dancing for four hours, there’s a lightness to him again. “Ready?”

“Yes, I’m starving.”

“Do you ever stop complaining?”

“No, never, now let’s go, I’m hungry.”

Minho takes them to their favorite chicken place just a block away from his apartment. It’s open twenty four hours a day, and no matter what time they come in, whether it’s the afternoon or nearing midnight, like right now, it’s always packed. The hostess seats them in a booth toward the back, sandwiched between two groups of drunk college students, and Jisung wonders how anyone can be out partying on a Wednesday night and not collapse the following day.

Jisung doesn’t even need to look at the menu to know what he’s ordering, so he sets it aside and props his chin in his hand, exhaustion suddenly hitting him, his eyelids heavy. Minho across from him is as lively as he would be at noon, humming to himself as he peruses his options. He glimpses Jisung over the top of his laminated menu and quirks an eyebrow playfully. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Sungie,” he teases, lightly kicking the toe of Jisung’s boot under the table. 

“I’m not, I’m not, sorry. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why not?” 

“It’s only the beginning of the semester and two profs hit me with two projects, the new mixtape is supposed to come out in three weeks but it’s not quite done yet—I still need to record for one last song and I’m not sure where I’ll find the time. And you know it takes me a while to adjust to the dorms.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Minho says. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out so late.”

”Minho, you know I’d rather spend time with you than do pretty much anything else.”

Minho laughs at that, setting his menu aside. A moment later, the waiter approaches their table and the first thing Jisung notices is his long, inky black hair, and the second thing he notices is that the man is handsome, strikingly so. He introduces himself as Siwon and takes their orders, his eyes never looking away from Minho. Minho, of course, doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it at all.

Jisung sighs. This happens all the time, from baristas writing their numbers on Minho’s cups, to men and women alike getting a little too close for comfort at clubs and parties. It’s understandable—Jisung has eyes after all, he gets it—but it doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

“Did you hear Seungmin is transferring here? Next semester.”

Jisung feels his eyes bulge out. “No, Felix didn’t tell me!”

“Jeongin told me this morning. Something about some sports scholarship, I don’t know. It’s basically unheard of for teams to take transferring students but his school is a big rival and the coach wants him.”

“I’m gonna lose my roommate, I just know it.”

“One person in a double dorm is not that bad. And besides, that means everyone will be here.”

“Well, not Chan-hyung or Changbin-hyung.”

“I meant in the city. Now that Jeongin is here this year, everyone we’re friends with will all be within a few blocks of one another. No more annoying, expensive train rides just to go visit for a few hours like they’re inmates.”

Jisung laughs, his heart feeling a little lighter. He was never particularly popular as a kid, and only really grew out of his loner status when he and his family finally settled back down in Korea after years of travel. He met Minho in high school, and through him, Hyunjin and Jeongin. And then again through Minho, in his last year, he met Chan and Changbin. Felix and Seungmin rounded out their group, but it was nearly impossible to get everyone in one place at the same time. If they were all living in Seoul year-round, they might actually be able to get together more than once every few months. 

“See? At least that’s some good news.”

“I’ll still have to yell at Felix for not telling me first.”

“You do that. You’re very scary.”

Jisung kicks Minho’s shin, sending them both into a fit of laughter, interrupted by their waiter again, with their drinks and a promise of food arriving shortly. This time Siwon finally notices Jisung and gives him a polite smile.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Jisung sipping on his drink and people watching, Minho occasionally showing him a meme or funny video he sees on social media. He hands Jisung his phone to scroll through a bunch of pictures of his cats that his parents sent him over the last couple of weeks, and Jisung feels himself melting.

“I miss them,” he pouts. “Especially Dori. Move them here.”

“Hyunjin and I were talking about finding a place that will allow pets. Oh, hey, since your roommate is abandoning you soon, maybe we can find a three bedroom.”

“Oh no, I do not want to live somewhere that I can be kicked out of just so my roommate can hookup.”

Minho looks back down to his phone, suddenly fidgety, pulling one leg up into the booth to lean his chin on. “You know that happens in dorms, too. Probably way more often.”

“It doesn’t happen to me because Felix is respectful and considerate and does all of his sinning at Seungmin’s place.”

Whatever Minho is about to say next is interrupted by their food arriving, and Jisung thinks he almost looks relieved to end their conversation. Once his dak-galbi hits the table in front of him, Jisung’s mouth waters. He really was hungry, and now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he ate something, especially something that didn’t come out of a microwave. 

As they’re finishing up their meals, Jisung poking the last scraps around with his chopsticks, Minho’s phone rings, Hyunjin’s smiling face flashing on the screen.

“It’s loud in here, I’ll be right back,” says Minho. Jisung nods, watching him go, wondering what Hyunjin could need at such a late hour. 

A moment later, Jisung notices Siwon headed his way, presumably with the check, and he realizes he forgot his wallet. He could kick himself—the perfect opportunity to pay and it slips right out of his grasp.

“That guy you’re here with, is he your boyfriend?”

“I’m sorry?” The question is so absurd and unexpected that Jisung is sure he didn’t hear right. 

“I asked if he’s your boyfriend, the guy you’re here with. I wanted to be sure.”

Of course. This isn’t the first time he’s been asked that question, and it certainly isn’t the first time Jisung has felt tempted to go ahead and lie, just for the satisfaction of it. But he’s not an asshole, he doesn’t have any claim over Minho. 

“No, no he’s not.”

“Well, good. In that case,” Siwon slides a slip of paper toward Jisung, “Here’s my number. Text me sometime, if you want. Oh, and here’s your check. You can pay at the counter.” He disappears with a quick smile over his shoulder before Jisung even realizes what happened. 

Sure enough, Siwon’s phone number is written across a clean scrap of receipt paper. This was not how Jisung anticipated that conversation going, but that does nothing stop the blush from heating the tips of his ears either. And maybe… maybe he could text Siwon sometime. It certainly would be a little more dignified to just date someone instead of pine over his best friend who doesn’t see him that way, or worse, ask said best friend to teach him how to be good in bed. He sighs, hanging his head and hears the bells above the door jingle, announcing Minho’s return. Without thinking, shoves the phone number into the pocket of his hoodie.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“I don’t really know, he just said he needs me to pick him up from Chan and Changbin’s. What about you? What was all that?” Minho casts a glance over to Siwon standing at the kitchen doors, talking to one of his coworkers. 

“He gave me his number.”

“Oh.” Minho’s voice is soft, his expression inscrutable. “Are you gonna call?”

“Well he asked me to text, so…”

Minho rolls his eyes and slaps Jisung’s shoulder playfully. “Come on. Do you want to come with me to get Hyunjin?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

It’s after one in the morning when Jisung lets himself into the dorm, quietly as he can so he doesn’t wake Felix. Except Felix is awake, on his bed in the dark, the sounds of an Among Us med bay scan emanating from his phone.

“Damn you’re late,” he comments, not looking up.

“I was going to stay at Minho’s but Hyunjin’s… I don’t know, he wouldn’t talk about it with me in the car.”

Felix hums in response, fully concentrated on his game. Jisung leaves him to it, changing his clothes and going through the nightly ritual of scrubbing his face and brushing his teeth. When he hears the tell-tale sound of Felix being murdered, he sinks onto the bed next to him, looking over Felix’s shoulder to watch the other crewmates decide who killed him. 

“You didn’t tell me about Seungmin,” Jisung complains, suddenly remembering. 

“We literally only found out today, what the hell?”

“Jeongin told hyung and hyung told me and I am a little hurt that I didn’t hear it from you first!”

Felix’s smile is radiant in the blue light of his phone screen. “The coach here said he needed to go through a try-out, but Seungie says it’s just a formality. It will have to wait for the new semester, but,” Felix lets out a little squeal, “I’m so excited.”

“Me too! Minho’s happy we’ll all be in one place, finally. But does this mean you’re abandoning me to live with your boyfriend?”

“We can find a two bedroom place?”

Jisung scoffs. “Believe it or not that isn’t my first offer tonight.”

“Maybe the university will just let my bed be empty. And you can have a double to yourself.”

“Yeah right, I’ll probably get stuck with a wait-lister. Find a new lobby and give me the code.”

Even though he knows better, knows that he should be trying to sleep or, if he’s not going to sleep, he should spend that time doing some of his homework, Jisung instead pulls out his phone and gets comfy in Felix’s bed, joining him in the game. They’re both immediately absorbed, muting their phones so they can’t spy on one another. Time gets away from Jisung and he’s not sure how long it’s been since they started when his phone vibrates and a text from Minho appears at the top of his screen where he’s trying to fix wires. He accidentally clicks on it, taking him out of the game, and he’d definitely be annoyed under normal circumstances. 

However, all he’s able to feel is shock, and a little bit of embarrassment.

Minho-hyung (don’t answer): I’ll do it  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): and don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean  
Jisung: why?  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): we can talk about it later  
Jisung: oh my god you want to fuck me  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): what  
Jisung: you want to fuck me!!  
Jisung: you must be so embarrassed right now  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): i take it back  
Jisung: you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid!  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): shut up  
Jisung: aww it’s okay i won’t tell anyone  
Minho-hyung (don’t answer): I’m blocking you just so you know

Jisung spends the days after their conversation scrolling and rereading it over and over again. It doesn’t feel real to him, especially after the two very blatant rejections Minho’s given him over the last couple of weeks. He has so many questions, but he can’t bring himself to ask them, because what if the worst is true? What if Minho only saw this as an option the moment someone else did first?

He doesn’t want to think of Minho that way and so he forces himself to ignore that small voice in his head. He teases Minho like he always does, and when they’re alone together he pretends to be absorbed in his homework or his music so that they don’t have to talk, not really.

He’s sure that Minho will eventually call him on it but he’s going to ride it out for as long as he can.

Unfortunately for him, the jig is up less than a week later when Seungmin comes to visit and all of his friends decide they desperately need a night out and won’t take no for an answer.

Jisung really doesn't want to go out, and drags his feet getting ready. He has lyrics he has to write for a class, a paper for another, and of course he still hasn’t gotten to the recording studio for 3racha’s last song—even though today would have been perfect since all three of them have a clear schedule. But Felix’s pout on his way out the door motivates him to finally get in the shower and try to make himself look presentable.

He stands at the mirror, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned, putting the last touches of his makeup on. A pile of shirts lay haphazard across Felix’s bed, each a potential winner but Jisung can’t decide. The alarm clock on the nightstand beside his bed taunts him with the late hour. 

“How are you not ready, I texted—” Minho’s voice cuts off as he enters Jisung’s room. Jisung doesn’t miss the way Minho’s eyes rake over him, and he feels a blush creeping up. He can’t deal with this, not right now; it’s taking him right back to the night of his aborted confession and suddenly a dark, crowded, loud club sounds perfect right about now.

“Oh god, I’m a mess, sorry. I’m almost ready,” Jisung says, looking away from Minho’s eyes and buttoning his pants, trembling hands fumbling over the clasps.

“Just put some clothes on,” Minho says, but there’s no edge to his tone.

“Pretty drastic change of tone from the other night,” Jisung teases and he’s got no idea where it comes from, this ability to act normal after Minho just looked at him like that.

“Shut up.” He pulls a black silk shirt from the pile on Felix’s bed and throws it at Jisung’s face. “This one.” 

“Ooh, you want to match?”

“Black on black is not a look Jisung, we don’t match,” Minho laughs. 

“Whatever you say.”

“Damn right, now let’s go.”

Truth be told, Jisung actually had ulterior motives when he had finally agreed to join his friends in a night out. With 3racha’s new mixtape coming soon, they’d booked a series of gigs to help promote it, and this club was one that they’d be performing at in just a few weeks’ time. Unfortunately for him, he’d never stepped foot in the place, but at least tonight he’d be able to scope it out and know what to expect when they returned as artists. 

Turns out, it’s a lot more impressive than he imagined.

Minho pays for their cover charge and Jisung trails in behind him, mouth hanging open in a very flattering way as he takes it all in. Two floors of dancing bodies, two separate bars, and that’s not even looking at the VIP section. He tries to imagine performing in a place as crowded as this club is tonight and a mixture of anxiety and excitement overwhelms him. He can’t wait.

“You good?” Minho’s voice in his ear breaks the spell.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just… playing here in a few weeks and it’s kind of mind-blowing.” 

“You’ll sell out arenas one day, just watch.” His hand smooths down Jisung’s shoulders and finds its landing place at the small of his back. “Let’s go find the others.”

It’s not hard to track them down, the six of them draped over a couple of the white leather couches lining the perimeter of the first floor. Jisung spots them when Hyunjin lets out a wild whoop, his voice loud even with the music and the cotton candy pink lighting glinting off his long hair. 

“It’s about damn time,” is Seungmin’s way of greeting them. 

“Yeah, what were you two doing?” Felix adds, his voice an over exaggerated suggestive tone, complete with wandering eyebrows, and then he bursts into giggles.

“So Felix is already drunk,” Minho deadpans.

“That makes four of us.” Jisung looks over his shoulder to see Jeongin joining them, a drink in his hand. He gestures to the further couch, where Changbin is draped over Chan’s lap and Hyunjin is taking a picture with his phone.

“Oh no, no way,” Jisung says, holding his hands up. “I babysat last time. Not again. Hyung, let’s dance.” He grabs Minho’s arm, hauling him toward the dance floor, before he turns to add to Jeongin, “Are you old enough for that?”

“It’s club soda! And if it wasn’t so expensive I’d dump it on you just for that.”

“Love you, too!”

Jisung finds them a spot toward the middle of the dance floor and immediately feels better. He loves all things music, especially making it, but dancing is a close second. When he’s writing, he’s pouring himself into it, but when he’s dancing, he can just let go. It wasn’t always this way though. He can still remember the first time he let Minho take him to a club meant for dancing, how he’d practically kicked and screamed and had to be dragged there. He felt unsure on his feet and embarrassed about his lack of dancing prowess next to Minho who’d been classically trained for years. But Minho put him right at ease, and now—when there isn’t work to be done and deadlines looming overhead—it’s one of his favorite things to do.

A few feet away Minho smiles at him, like he can see the memory in Jisung’s head too. How Minho had wrapped himself around Jisung, leading with his body, teaching Jisung how to let the music guide his movements. The way Minho had to make himself look ridiculous so that Jisung would feel fine about looking ridiculous himself.

Without another thought, Jisung draws his hands up, shimmies his shoulders, and wiggles his hips—one of their patented ‘moves’ designed right there on the dance floor, meant to make Jisung break out of his shell. Minho throws his head back in laughter, mirroring the movement.

Soon enough they’ve formed their own tiny, two man dance battle. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Sungie,” Minho laughs, shouting over the music.

This is not what he had in mind when he was getting ready to go out, but he can’t help upping the ante each time it’s his turn. Twirls and body rolls and even pulling out the aegyo that predictably has Minho fake gagging and Jisung doubled over, his stomach hurting from laughter. 

With a little bit of a shock, he realizes it’s the best he’s felt around Minho in a while. Like they’re back to their old selves.

Minho twirls, twisting his hips into something like a clown’s version of the Smooth Criminal choreography. It’s hilarious, and would be almost impressive given that he’s just messing around, if it weren’t for the man he’s about to crash into. Jisung notices a split second before it happens, lunging to grab Minho’s arm and pull him out of the way. Their shoulders collide anyway, just barely, and the man spins, instantly annoyed.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass,” he spits, voice loud enough to hear over the din of the bass. Jisung tenses, not sure how Minho will react, but Minho just dips into a slight bow, apologetic but for the poorly concealed laughter written all over his face.

“Sorry, sorry, won’t happen again,” Minho answers. He slips an arm around Jisung’s middle and leads him a few steps away, out of reach, before letting loose, nearly collapsing in Jisung’s arms. His giggles are contagious and soon enough, Jisung gives in.

“It was fun while it lasted,” he says when he can finally catch his breath again. 

“These people just don’t know how to have fun.” 

Minho clings to Jisung’s shoulders, Jisung’s hands on his waist. The platform soles of Jisung’s boots give him a little extra height on Minho, and this close, even in the dark, he can see the way Minho’s eyes crinkle at the corners with an unspent smile. He can’t help but notice every place where their bodies touch, from their hands to their knees, zings with heat. 

“Dance? For real this time?”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘for real’ but I was giving it my all out there.” Minho teases, but he draws in a little closer anyway, already absently swaying to the beat.

Jisung smiles to himself. This is how it should be between them—how it was until he got too inside his own head. He feels intoxicated despite not having touched a single drink that night, like Minho’s fingers brushing along his neck are a drug all on their own. Minho lifts his arms in the air, his head thrown back, profile lit up in pinks and greens. Jisung takes a step back to look at him better and it’s a terrible idea—Minho is beautiful, but worse, he’s hot, and Jisung is weak.

Minho opens his eyes, catching Jisung staring, and laughs, the sound swallowed by the music and the crowd around them. But Jisung doesn’t miss the way his smile lights up his face, and he feels his own cheeks warm. His instinct is to hide, to run away, but Minho knows him by now and he grabs Jisung’s hand, keeping him there. 

Minho lifts their joined hands in the air, twirling Jisung around until they’re pressed together, Minho’s chest to Jisung’s back. Minho’s body radiates heat, but it’s not unpleasant. Rather, Jisung leans into it. It’s easy for them to find their rhythm together, like their bodies are used to being this close, naturally falling into sync with one another. Minho still holds onto Jisung’s hand, arm wrapped around his middle. The other roams to Jisung’s side, not grabbing, exactly, but holding with enough pressure to feel like a steadying presence, reminding Jisung of who’s touching him.

Each song blends into the next one seamlessly, the DJ setting the mood as the night grows later and later. Minho doesn’t say anything, but every once in a while Jisung can feel his breath ghost along his neck and he shivers. His hand clutches Minho’s tightly, squeezing with every shiver.

Jisung doesn’t notice the change, not right away. It’s like one moment they’re simply dancing, Minho’s hands at his waist. But then they slide lower, and before Jisung knows it’s happening, Minho’s hands grip his hips, guiding Jisung’s movements along with the music. He can’t catch his breath, and he knows it’s not from the dancing alone. The touch is torture, and he wonders if it’s affecting Minho just as much.

Jisung wants to say something. He wants to say a lot of things, actually, but he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know where the line is between them anymore, and all he wants to do is go back in time and unsend that stupid CuriousCat message. Maybe if he had never sent it, things would be different right now. 

But then, different isn’t always better.

He’s a complete mess by the time the song ends, his thoughts scrambled and warring with his body. His mind tells him one thing, while Minho’s body tells him another, and he’s just on the brink of short-circuiting completely, heart beating wildly, pants suddenly uncomfortably tight. Just as he’s made up his mind to pull away, Minho does first. Jisung turns to see why and finds Minho flashing his phone screen at him.

“The others are leaving.”

“Already?”

“Ji, it’s been almost two hours.”

How? How could that much time have gotten away from him?

He follows Minho back to the couches, clinging onto his sleeve so they don’t get separated. Just like Minho had said, the others are gathered together, Hyunjin holding up a staggering Changbin, Jeongin on his other side.

“Who needs a ride?” Minho asks no one in particular.

“I’m gonna walk these two home,” Hyunjin says, pointing to Changbin and Chan. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you guys?”

“I think the cold air will help sober him up,” Jeongin says. “Felix, can you drive me back to the dorms?”

“Sure, no problem.” Felix squints at Hyunjin. “Are you sure you can handle them both?”

Hyunjin laughs at that, but there’s little humor to it. “I’ve got it, it’s just two blocks.”

“Okay, call us if you need anything.” Felix takes Seungmin’s hand, leading him and Jeongin toward the doors, with one last unsure glance over his shoulder.

“Let’s help them out and then you’re coming home with me,” Minho whispers into his ear.

Minho’s tone startles Jisung, turning his blood to liquid fire. He’s never heard him talk like that before, not once, but it’s enough to get his heart rate up, his hands shaking. There’s no time to think about it, though, no room to even ask a question. He busies himself instead with throwing one of Changbin’s arms over his shoulders and hauling him toward the exit.

He’s a little reluctant to let them go. They both are, Minho offering at least three more times to drive them back to Chan and Changbin’s apartment. But they turn him down, Chan suddenly a bit more lucid now that he’s out in the spring night air. The three of them finally head off, Chan and Hyunjin silently escorting a near-collapse Changbin. Jisung has a lot of questions, but he holds them all inside, his whole body suddenly tense now that he and Minho are alone again. 

Jisung follows him through the crowd milling around outside, back to the car parked around the corner. Once he’s back in the cab, door shut firmly behind him, locking out the noise of the drunken club-goers, he lets out a long sigh. It feels like the club and everything that happened inside is a fever dream, something he made up—until Minho slides into the seat beside him, buckles himself in, and gives Jisung’s knee a squeeze.

“You okay?”

Jisung nods, unsure of his voice just yet. 

Jisung has never felt awkward with Minho before. Minho, who knew him when he still had braces, who nursed him back to health after an awful stomach virus, who he’s cried in front of, who has seen him at his absolute worst and most embarrassing. It seemed impossible to feel awkward in front of him. But now, Jisung suddenly doesn’t know what to say or where to put his hands. They feel stupid and heavy, sitting in his lap as Minho drives them from the club to his apartment, and fuck, has Jisung always been so weird and he just hadn’t noticed until now?

He brushes his hair off his forehead for the thousandth time and debates taking his phone out just so he has something to do, but his jeans are way too tight for that and the stretch and maneuvering it would take to get his phone out of his pocket would be infinitely worse than just sitting still. He sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

“You’re thinking awfully loud over there, I can hardly pay attention to the road.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… this is all new to me and normally I’d talk to my best friend about something like this but well, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

Minho doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, humming to himself along with the soft music on the radio, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Jisung can feel himself staring, but he’s well past the point of shame by now so he just embraces it, trailing his gaze all along Minho’s profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the glinting silver chains hanging from his ears. 

Minho pulls into the parking garage, the dull roar of the engine echoing off the concrete walls. He finds his designated spot, close to the elevators, and cuts the engine, but makes no move to get out. Instead, he turns to face Jisung, a smile on his face, and it’s so soft, so familiar, that it puts Jisung at ease right away.

“Look, Sungie, we don’t have to do anything right now—or at all. We can just go upstairs and order food and watch a movie and forget about all of this.”

“No, no, I want to.”

“Well of course you do. Look at me.”

“Shut up, hyung.”

Minho giggles, and that sound, along with the joke, melts the rest of the tension in the car. This is Minho, not some stranger, not anyone who’s going to judge him. Minho knows him, and so any judgment would have come a long time ago. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Minho stares at him, expression inscrutable, and for a moment Jisung feels like Minho can read his mind. Can see all of his overthinking, can draw out the real reason they’re even in the car tonight at all. It terrifies him, because it would be so like Minho to guess and turn it all back around on Jisung once again. But the moment is short-lived.

“Alright, come on,” Minho says, pulling his keys out of the ignition and climbing out of the car.

Jisung follows Minho to the elevators and another young couple boards with them, the man holding a sleeping toddler in his arms. Jisung, normally averse to such intrusions, is thankful for their presence. It saves him from sixty seconds of awkward silence, everyone carefully avoiding each others’ eyes, sure to stay quiet to accommodate the baby. Finally, the doors ding open on Minho’s floor, and he can breathe again.

The apartment is dark and silent, of course, when Minho unlocks the door and lets them in. Jisung pulls off his boots, already regretting the loss of those few centimeters the platforms gave him, like this is the first step in shedding the confident, sure persona he wore to the club that night. 

“So we should talk about some things,” Minho says.

Jisung slumps down onto the couch, watching Minho hang up his jacket and plug in his phone. 

“Like what?”

“Well.” Minho sits down at the other end of the couch, a good meter of empty space separating them. “I guess, what you want. What you expect. What you’ve done.”

Jisung blushes, looking away. He hasn’t done anything, not really. “Nothing,” he breathes, unable to look Minho in the eye. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t know what to expect.”

“Come here.” Minho’s voice is soft, gentle, like he’s talking Jisung down from a ledge. And even as he tells Jisung to come to him, he slides over the leather couch cushions, closing the gap between them. “Come here,” he laughs, grabbing Jisung by the wrist.

Jisung gasps as he’s hauled into Minho’s lap, adjusting so his knees sit comfortably on either side of Minho’s thighs. He can feel himself shaking, unsure of what to do with his hands, again. He finally rests them between their bodies, fiddling with one of the buttons on Minho’s shirt. “Is this awkward?” he asks.

“Yes,” Minho says, running one of his hands along Jisung’s thigh. “But that’s okay. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well, I haven’t.”

“I meant you and I together.”

“Oh... now what?”

“Now I need you to relax. It’s just me.”

It’s just him, as if that could ever make Jisung relax. Just Minho, who is the most beautiful man Jisung has ever laid eyes on; just Minho, who could take home any guy he wanted with just the snap of his fingers; just Minho, who he could lose if this all goes wrong. But Minho’s hands run up and over the expanse of Jisung’s legs, massaging gently, and his cologne permeates the air between them, and he does feel better. Marginally. But he’s so nervous he almost wishes he did, in fact, have a drink that night.

“We need to set some rules,” Minho says, interrupting Jisung’s spiral. Jisung looks up to find Minho’s eyes on him. His gaze is dark, hooded, but his voice is clear and purposeful. It’s a contradiction Jisung doesn’t understand.

“What rules?”

“Well, I assume you don’t want anyone to know?”

Frankly, Jisung doesn’t care if the whole world knows, and he’s about to say so before he remembers himself and how he even got here in the first place. Changbin. He’s supposed to have feelings for Changbin and it wouldn’t make sense at all to let any of the others know about this arrangement with Minho if he hopes to ever land a date with Changbin. He sighs, not at Minho’s words, but at this whole stupid situation. 

“I think that would make it a lot more complicated,” he says, finally.

“Mhm, probably,” Minho agrees, sliding his hand up Jisung’s thigh again, except this time he goes a little bit higher, more towards his inner thigh, making Jisung squirm. “I have another question for you, Sungie.”

“Wh-what is it?”

“You’ve never had sex before. Do you really want your first time to be with me, and not someone you have feelings for?”

Jisung isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry, settling for something like a sigh, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. He doesn’t even know how to answer this, didn’t even think it could get to this point tonight. His voice dies in his throat when he tries to answer, words all jumbled in his head, shaking hands letting go of the fold in Minho’s shirt. 

“I.. I really—I’m sorry, I don’t—” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, calm down,” Minho says, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ve said it and I’ll keep saying it. We don’t have to do anything tonight and we certainly aren’t going to do all of that. It was just a question. Something to think about.”

The truth is, Jisung couldn’t possibly think of someone better to share his first time with. Despite his nerves and what he knows about Minho’s feelings for him, he’s completely sure that Minho would take the best care of him, would make sure that he was comfortable the entire time. He knows that not everyone is like that, especially hearing stories of his friends’ first times... but he trusts Minho. Unequivocally. The thought alone doesn’t stop his heart from thudding erratically, so loudly he’s sure Minho can see it shaking his entire body. It doesn’t stop his hands from shaking either. But it gives him a little courage, just enough to lift his hands to Minho’s shoulders, smoothing them over the exposed skin of Minho’s neck. 

He loves Minho’s neck. Has spent many hours fantasizing about what it would look like covered in marks from his own mouth.

Jisung lets out a tiny, embarrassing squeak when the images come into his mind unbidden. Minho hears it, tilting his head up to smile softly at him. 

“It’s just me,” he says again, moving his hands to Jisung’s waist and pulling him a little closer. 

Before he knows it, Minho’s mouth is on his jaw. The heat of it overwhelms him, pulling a sigh from deep in his throat as he clenches his fingers around the collar of Minho’s shirt. Minho blazes a trail all along Jisung’s jaw to his ear where his warm breath elicits a full-body shiver. All of it feels unreal, like it couldn’t possibly be happening to him and he holds onto Minho tighter, impossibly tight, like his hands are the only thing keeping him from floating away.

Minho’s mouth catches Jisung’s earlobe, teeth clicking against the metal of his earring. It’s soft and fast, over before he can even appreciate it fully and he has to bite back a whine. Jisung wants nothing more than to feel those lips on his own and he turns his face, leaning toward Minho, but Minho pulls away.

“No kissing. Not on the mouth, anyway,” he adds with a smirk.

“Why?”

For a second, Minho looks away, his eyes darting around anywhere but Jisung’s face, and his expression can only be described as sad. It doesn’t make sense to Jisung, this fleeting change in Minho’s demeanor, but it’s gone before he can mention it, Minho’s eyes returning to his.

“Just a rule I have for myself. No kissing outside of relationships.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “I also don’t usually do sleepovers,” he says, a sheepish blush hinting at his cheeks. “But I won’t kick you out, don’t worry.”

This isn’t something Jisung wants to think about—what Minho does with other people. Of course, he knows it happens, like it did not that long ago when Hyunjin showed up at Chan and Changbin’s. Having known Minho for so long, he’s seen boyfriends and casual hookups come and go, and for a long time, it was one right after another, a revolving door of nameless, faceless guys at Minho’s apartment, especially after he and Jaeyoung broke up. It was a thing that Jisung knew about Minho, but Minho always kept separate from everything else.

Jisung wonders if he’s ready to add his name to that list.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks.

“I think so,” Jisung says with a nod.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no.”

“Good.” 

Minho’s hands lift to the buttons of Jisung’s shirt, deftly undoing each one, tugging the tails from the waistband of his jeans. Jisung’s suddenly self-conscious, his mind going back to earlier that night when Minho saw him without a shirt and couldn’t finish his sentence. But Minho either doesn’t care or doesn’t remember, because he’s pushing forward, his warm hands sliding over Jisung’s abs, ribs, his chest. His every nerve ending lights up like a Christmas tree. His mouth is back again, open and warm, lips dragging across the expanse of Jisung’s collar bones, lower and lower until Jisung gasps, clinging to Minho’s shoulders as Minho laves his tongue over Jisung’s nipple.

“Fuck,” Jisung whines.

“Good?” Minho’s breath is warm against Jisung’s skin as he laughs.

“Yeah, yes.”

“I can’t tell if you’re nervous or just naturally sensitive.”

“I think I’m just a virgin,” Jisung deadpans.

Minho laughs for real this time, loud right against Jisung’s ear. “So you keep saying,” he says, leaning them over and reaching for a drawer in the coffee table. Jisung holds on, not wanting to fall off the couch, confused about what Minho could possibly be doing until they sit back up and there’s a bottle of lube in Minho’s free hand. He sets the bottle aside and Jisung swallows around his dry throat at the sight of it, everything suddenly very real.

“I’m gonna keep going. Is that okay?” Jisung nods, but it doesn’t seem to be enough, Minho scrutinizing him. “I mean it. Tell me to stop if you don’t want to do this. We can go to bed and forget it ever happened.”

As if Jisung would ever even want to forget. 

“I know, I know.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I don’t want to do anything to you that you’re not comfortable with.”

“It’s okay, hyung, really, I want this.”

That seems to be a good enough answer for Minho. His hands dip down to the waistband of Jisung’s jeans, pulling at the belt and then the button and zipper in quick, practiced movements. Jisung is painfully hard now. It was easier to ignore with Minho’s questions, with his own nerves, but now that Minho’s reaching his fingers into Jisung’s waistband and tugging the too-tight jeans down below his hips, it’s impossible. But instead of going lower, Minho’s hands snake up Jisung’s back, nails lightly scratching the skin over his ribs and he wraps his arms tightly around Jisung, pulling him even impossibly closer.

He starts again with his mouth, pressing his lips to Jisung’s sternum and kissing his way across his chest. Jisung never knew something so simple could feel so good and he digs his fingers into Minho’s shoulders, biting back a sigh. Why did he wait so long to try this?

Finally, with his tongue circling the hardened nub of Jisung’s nipple, Minho’s fingers find the elastic of Jisung’s boxers, and with no more warning than that, dip in to wrap around the shaft of Jisung’s cock. A high pitched keen stutters in Jisung’s throat at the unexpected touch, and he rocks his hips forward, chasing more of it.

“Shit,” Minho whispers, giving an experimental stroke up and down. Jisung sits up, wondering if he did something wrong.

“What is it?” 

“Oh no, I’m here to stroke your dick, not your ego.”

Jisung pants out a laugh, Minho resting his forehead on Jisung’s shoulder. He tugs at Jisung’s boxers until they’re down to his thighs, elastic stretched to its limit. “God, you’re leaking so much already. You’re so eager.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s hot.” With one hand, he swipes his thumb over the slit of Jisung’s cock and Jisung’s mind goes blank; he doesn’t even notice Minho uncap the lube until a bit of it is dripping onto him. He hisses from the cold, but it’s over in a second when Minho’s fingers are wrapped around him once again.

Minho starts with slow, gentle strokes, slicking the lube all over Jisung's cock until he's thoroughly coated. Jisung never expected it to feel so good; he's jerked off plenty, obviously, but that's nothing compared to how it feels when Minho does it and he's not sure he could ever go back. Minho flicks his wrist, rubbing his thumb over the frenum, and soon enough, Jisung is breathless. He falls forward, head resting on Minho's shoulder as his hips cant up to match Minho's stroking.

Jisung can't get enough. Minho picks up his pace and Jisung rolls his hips, matching it. He doesn't have time to think about how it's Minho doing this to him, doesn't have time to worry about what Minho thinks, because all he's able to process is the pleasure of it all, the heat pooling between his legs, the flames licking up his spine. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he unravels.

"You know, I've done this before," he breathes, shivering in Minho's grasp.

"I'm the teacher here, let me teach."

"What am I supposed to be learning?"

"How to let go. Now go ahead, fuck my hand."

It's the single hottest thing Jisung has ever heard in his life, and he listens to the command like his life depends on it. He grinds his hips down, chasing Minho's hand, until Minho holds himself still and lets Jisung take over.

There's too much to pay attention to. The tight, wet grip of Minho's hand, the way his cock brushes against the silk of Minho's shirt every time he thrusts forward, the sharp sting of Minho's teeth biting his nipple. All the sensation floods through him, the coil in his gut snapping, and he spills all over Minho's hand, his lap, his shirt. But Minho doesn't stop there. He keeps going, stroking Jisung all the way through it until he's shaking with aftershocks, hardly able to hold himself up. Each new touch sends a wave through him and he gasps every time, breath rattling in his lungs.

"Holy shit."

Minho laughs, pushing Jisung into an upright position and brushing away the sweaty bangs matted to his forehead. "You okay?" he asks.

Jisung nods, his mind not quite clear yet. "What about you? I could..."

"Don't worry about me, Sungie. This was about you, tonight."

"But--are you not turned on?"

"I promise you, that is not the problem," Minho teases. He jerks his hips up, bouncing Jisung in his lap and Jisung feels the unmistakable hardness of Minho's cock between his legs. Holy shit.

"Then why?"

"I told you, I just wanted this to be about you. To get you to feel more comfortable around me. I know how you get, all in your head, overthinking everything. I just wanted you to relax a little. There will be time for that later--if you want."

Jisung nods his head, maybe a bit too eagerly. But how could he not want to do that again?

"Okay, good," Minho says with a smile. "Now watch out, I'll go get something to clean up." He holds his sticky, come-covered hand between them and Jisung wants to die just a little from embarrassment.

He shuffles out of Minho's lap with shaky muscles, holding onto as much grace as he possibly can with his dick hanging out and his body covered in sweat. He watches Minho rise, noticing the blatant bulge in his pants and all of a sudden it hits him--Minho's turned on, by him. They did that.

Fuck. How is he supposed to act from now on? Minho has seen him in this state, does that mean he'll keep remembering that every time they're together? Will Jisung remember the way Minho's mouth felt, the way Minho's breath synced with his as he fell over the edge? Everything had been so weird between them since Jisung even mentioned the idea of doing this together, and now, without the fog of hormones clouding his judgment, he can see that this was the worst possible decision he could have made.

"You're not going to make it weird between us are you," Minho says, returning from the bathroom. He has a wet washcloth in his hand that he passes to Jisung, hands clean but his clothes still a mess.

Because of him.

Jisung swallows, accepting the washcloth with a bow of his head. He's not sure he can look at Minho right now, not without blushing so hard that all the blood will rush from his brain, leaving him fainting right there on the living room floor. He averts his gaze, pretending to be very concentrated on the act of wiping himself down. But when he tucks himself back into his pants, buttoning them shut again, there's no other excuse not to answer Minho.

"Things could never be weird," he says, trying to match his tone to his words. "You only jerked me off until I came all over you. That's totally normal, right? Why would it be weird?"

Minho gives him a soft, almost wistful smile. "Let's get changed," he says.

Jisung follows Minho to his bedroom, where he's handed a clean set of clothes. "I'm going to sleep in Hyunjin's room tonight," Minho says, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket in the closet.

"What? Why?"

"I just think that... that stuff," he gestures toward the living room, "and cuddling or sleeping over--it should be separate. There should be boundaries. Right?"

Jisung should have expected that, given what he knows about Minho's sex life and how he conducts himself in that regard. But it still stings a little. He'd been looking forward to collapsing into bed together--it's been a while since he last spent the night--but at the same time, he gets it. This is how people catch feelings and obviously Minho doesn't see Jisung that way.

"That makes sense, yeah," Jisung answers after a moment. He slips out of his dirtied jeans and pulls on his grey joggers. "Do you have anything going on tomorrow?"

"I have to run to the studio and drop off keys so the new kid can get in on Monday morning, but that's it. Why?"

"Wanna get breakfast? I've been dying for pancakes for literal weeks but I'm always busy in the mornings."

This entire conversation feels surreal, like he's stepped into a parallel, but close, universe, where he's a normal person and what just happened totally didn't phase him. Except it did and it's taking all of his bodily and self control to keep the tremors out of his voice, to keep his expression neutral. He feels like he'll collapse under the weirdness of it all.

"Of course, Sungie," Minho says, ruffling Jisung's hair. "You don't even have to ask." And that sets Jisung on edge, too. Is he acting strangely? Can Minho tell? He studies Minho for a second, watching him to see if he's acting off at all, but Minho is completely unflappable as always. It's maddening. "I'm going to bed now, it's late," Minho says, interrupting his thoughts. "I'll see you in the morning. And don't worry yourself too much, okay? I can see the cogs turning all the way over here and I promise, it's okay. Try to get some sleep."

—-


End file.
